


godslayer.

by starspangledpeaches



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Marvel Universe, Other, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24786649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledpeaches/pseuds/starspangledpeaches
Summary: quill's been searching for gamora for a long time coming after thanos, and he's frightened at the sight of what he's missed.
Kudos: 1





	godslayer.

As the silent whispers of the ship took over the air, the passengers aboard were asleep peacefully, resting and tired. Not a sound could be heard throughout, not even a peep. Only the ship’s engine hummed as the Guardians moved away from their latest conquest, a planet that had them all worn. Even after the victory on Earth, it seemed as if the Guardians never stopped their fight. And time and time again, the battle scars kept building. Layers and layers of sweat and tears for each damaged soul to break it all off again to fight another day. The thin air surrounding them wasn’t as thin as it seemed, and even after Thanos, it hadn’t been the same. At least…

Not for Peter Quill.

Heartbroken and distraught was all that was masked on a rugged face. His body tired and aching as he lay so sluggish over his desk with papers, notes, and scrapped memories scattered and in disarray. His arms covered his head, wrapping himself in a small cocoon to trap himself from the world. Even after a month had passed without her, his thoughts never seemed to overstep her for one second. And even though she was back again, she wasn’t, truly. Quill’s breaths were uneven and quiet, his eyes shut tight, his small lamplight cascading a dull, yellow mist over his unfinished work. Quill was overworked, stressed, and downright destroyed. He was desperate. Desperate to find her. Desperate to find Gamora again. All but a few moments he saw her not long ago before she was swept away and sent to her death. Then, she returned again, only to treat him as if he was a stranger; a soulless female who was set on a task that was never achieved, which brought her disappearance. The woman he once shared his heart with now never dared to give him the same love she once did. A woman who was changed, out of existence, never the same as before.  


Time and time again he’d hope that every new planet they sought out, he’d find her. Maybe stranded, or lost. Or coincidentally fighting another battle that he’d end up somehow helping her in. All the times he begged the team to let him go on his own and search and climb the tallest mountain to spot her in the midst of a crowd, though his request was always denied. And he’d be dragged by the arm, his small yet pleading whines ignored once more to instead be forced to protect the galaxy when all he truly wanted was to relive the moments with the only one he’d ever wanted to protect with his life. 

The ship still sang silently in one ear and out the other, his breaths coming heavier and heavier until slowly, Peter’s eyes began to open, heavy-lidded and still red from his silent cries a few hours previously. His chair squeaked as he grunted, a muffled exhale leaving his lips. It took him a few moments to finally lift his head up from the darkness, adjusting to the dim-lit light cast over his papers. His beard was growing out now, and he ran a hand from his eyes down to his chin in a slight effort to wake himself, his frowning smile never leaving his distraught expression. A minute had passed until Peter regained his senses, his brain feeling weak again as he remembered the events of his day that was passing and leading into the next. In the late afternoon, Peter was forced up and out onto a planet that was their next mission. The planet they were currently leaving, the ship’s path already set dead ahead for their next battle. Bleek thoughts swirled his mind as he remembered fighting, guns ablaze, as usual. Nothing new, nothing exciting. At least, not anymore. He remembered telling the crew he would head back onto the ship early after the battle was over and they rose victorious, and without much confliction, the team complied, letting Quill walk back to the ship alone. All that was left in his memories was that he’d passed out cold on his desk after going back to his search for Gamora, crossing every single planet he’d visited and listing every single planet he’d yet to see, though he paid no attention to the fact that he wasn’t even familiar with every planet in the galaxy. And now, in the dead of night, maybe even early morning for all that he knew, Quill was awake before anyone else. 

Once awake, Peter sat up, gazing around in the darkness of the area. His desk was located in the room closest to the cockpit, a small little arrangement just for him to spend his days at. He rubbed his eyes once more before he realized how dry his throat felt. His tongue slid over the roof of his mouth miserably before he forced himself out of his chair, his limbs stiff and tired as he stood on his feet. Quill took in a deep breath, still peering through the darkness as he began to walk into the adjoining section of the ship. His baggy jacket clung to him as he approached the entrance to their small, makeshift kitchen. Vision blurry, Quill stumbled through the silence before reaching a section of the kitchen where a star’s light shone through one of the windows of the ship. With as much energy as he could gather, he trudged his way toward the sink where the cabinets above held small cups. Reaching his hand up, he grabbed onto the handle and swung open the cabinet, not taking a moment to even think about which cup he grabbed before closing the cabinet door with a small noise that could barely be heard. His thoughts were foggy, almost as if there was a void as he lazily turned a knob that let the water flow into the shallow metal sink. All he could focus on was the rush of water, the sound ringing through his ears as he held his cup under the water, letting it fill up before turning the sink off to set himself in the direction to his bedroom.

But, before Quill turned back around, he heard something step into the room, the intense thumps overtaking the silence, causing Quill to jolt around, his fight or flight response coming in to play as his body awakened fully, eyes wide and frightened. Peter clutched the cup in his hand, trying to make out the figure in the darkness before his eyes settled on something shiny, dangling from what he now saw in the figure’s hand. Quill’s breathing became heavy, his heart racing as watched the figure approach him; calmly, slowly. His eyes were glued onto the sharp object in their hand as he let out a small, yet speechless gasp. The glossy tip of the weapon dazzled in the night, and Quill was frozen in time. 

The figure took one more step until they were illuminated by a small ounce of light, their hand gripping the metal object. And it was then that Quill dropped the cup he once previously clenched tightly, now wide-eyed and in shock. He desperately tried to form a sentence, but all that came out were confused cries as he wrapped his left arm around his chest, suppressing the pain that formed in the pit of his stomach. His brain began to scream as tears fell from his eyes when he watched the figure make their way toward him, closer and closer in an apprehensive manner. But Quill only stood still, jaw opened, eyes flooding with tears that trickled down his face. The world may have ended then and there for Quill. His cries became louder, filling up the cold Iull that irked the atmosphere. 

Quill desperately tried moving his mouth with a shake of his head, his words coming out as nothing but sharp breaths and stagnant pauses. He saw the expression of their face, almost as terrified as him. And at that moment, he felt as if he couldn’t breathe any longer; as if his world was collapsing in on himself, with nowhere to go and nowhere to run from the sight in front of him.

“Quill, I can explain…” was all Thor muttered, his body shakily approaching Quill, now realizing he was the one who was in the kitchen. He held the vibranium knife in his hand, his eyes adjusting to Peter as he watched his tears flow down his face. He stood in the light, his eyes peering down at the knife that he desperately regretted carrying out now. Thor wanted to pour out all his thoughts, but instead, he stood motionless, sorrow clouding his thoughts, his own eyes beginning to become glossy at the sight of Quill standing just as equally terrified as himself. There was no escape from what had happened now. Thor expected to be able to avoid Quill at this hour, though he was terribly mistaken. He wanted to make sure Quill wouldn’t see him like this, his face scarred, his arms slashed, his hands shaky and wounded. But there was no escape from him now, and all Thor wished he could do was walk away and never look Quill in the eye again. He didn’t want Quill to see this; this mess. The mess he made now, a mess so detrimental that it would break apart the team. Thor’s regret only caused him to become quieter as Quill began to sob.

Quill couldn’t think straight anymore, and he finally broke, falling to his knees. He only managed to lift his head to Thor, the mighty god who stood tall, knife in hand, beaten and bruised and damaged. And then, he gazed at the knife again; the intricate knife, decorated with patterns that only Quill could remember that belonged to one person who used it with every mission and every battle. The knife that had a bloodstain on the other side once turned over, and Quill felt his lungs beginning to lose their air. The weapon that Thor held was never once used to kill for evil, though it was a weapon capable of killing one of the most powerful beings. A weapon whose owner was fearless and brave, who sacrificed themselves even when they knew they’d lose what mattered most to them. A weapon whose owner was once a beautiful soul, who gave up their heart to someone who thought they had no one left. 

And in the midst of the quiet kitchen, Quill wanted to yell and scream, but all he could do was weep. He felt lifeless, and empty, and betrayed. He put everything he had into getting another chance, but now, that was shattered to pieces. And he wanted so badly to kill Thor as he stood, but his legs were only as strong as a feather as he lay so destroyed on the kitchen floor. Quill’s heart shattered in that moment, suffocating in his cries. In one last attempt for a plead, to salvage any last manhood inside him, he finally managed to choke out,

“What the hell did you do to Gamora!?”


End file.
